Queen

A fragment (in progress) from “In the Underworld” by Paul “Whitberg” Burgess
“Elizabeth I”

…“His* famous child, Elizabeth the First,
Was never his intended royal heir,
But—though her mother Anne was killed and cursed—
Elizabeth possessed a gift that’s rare:
She rose to reign–a ruler far from worst–
Despite a youth that’d drive some to despair.
Though, like all people, Bessie had her flaws,
She helped advance her struggling kingdom’s cause.”

*Henry VIII’s
…
My guide’s nostalgia caused my mind to ponder
The art of world-dissecting and division
Into “Our Land” and “Countries over Yonder”.
The human race has marked with great precision
Where people may and may not dare to wander,
And when the boundaries require revision,
The sage solution favored by this race
Is wiping people off the Planet’s face.

Advertisement

An Angry Saint

[“Santa in the Underworld” pt. II (selections)]–please read pt. III (to be posted immediately after)

I’d loved him well as any other child
And hated seeing Santa mope and grieve.
Throughout our talk he’d never laughed or smiled.
It was apparent that he’d not relieve
His pain by raging like a beast that’s wild.
To mend his mood, I asked of Christmas Eve
And hoped the change of topic would delight
A man who’d lived to do his work that night.

With eggs we find we rarely can be sure
About which sort of beast might later hatch,
And strangers’ cats when stroked might gently purr
But are as apt to give one’s face a scratch.
Intentions and what might in time occur
Aren’t always made into a merry match.
The phrase I’d deemed a light and harmless query,
Ignited anger that I found quite scary.

He shouted, “So, you really want to know?
You’ll hear: of ev’ry groundless accusation;
Of trials that I had to undergo;
and endless months of loathsome litigation
I faced each time I moved my little toe.
In short, you’ll hear a tale of defamation.
So, take a seat and make yourselves at home
While learning of a fall like that of Rome*

*[Alternate line: While hearing woes enough to fill a tome]

[I get so angry that I nearly faint
When thinking of the ghastly, gloomy light
And misleading coat of morbid leaden paint
Which people used to twist and then indict
The things I’d done for years without complaint
Or being threatened with a legal fight.]
Attend me well, for now I will begin
A catalog of my alleged sin.

We’ll start with fusses made about my deer.
One group demanded that the deer be freed
From ‘cruelly flying for one night a year.’
The group declared I’d treat the cervine breed
As harshly as a heartless overseer
[…Who liked to whip a back to make it bleed].
And, when I showed the loving care I gave,
‘Twas said, ‘A happy slave is still a slave’.

Another group that gave my rear a spank
Was less concerned about them being free.
Although I’m German (not the least a Yank),
‘Support Detroit and auto industry’
Was screamed by ev’ry Cletus-Bob and Hank
Who ever spoke of having liberty.
[‘It’d help the people selling cars and oil
If cars, not deer, did Santa’s Christmas toil’.]

Some other pesky folks proclaimed me vile
And said my list of Naughty and of Nice
Appeared to be a voyeuristic file
For cats who prey upon the baby mice
[In other words, the creepy pedophile
Whose virtue is a mask to cover vice].
They also claimed I robbed their privacy
And was committing data piracy.

…and nearly ev’ry place I’d try to go,
Protesting packs would keep me from the door
While crying, ‘He’s a sexist ‘so and so’!’
They thought I’d called some little ladies ‘whore’
Because I often chanted triple ‘ho!’
[Which was a jolly laugh and nothing more].
It seems a man who’s merry in these times
Is apt to be suspected of some crimes.

Note: This ‘catalog of alleged misdeeds’ will eventually grow. For now, this section is an unfinished bridge between the “Part I” and “Will Preaches [to Saint Nick]”.

“Harry and the Paparazzi” [An Epic Episode]

an episode from The New House of Fame by Paul “Whitberg” Burgess

Of action, we’ve not seen a lot so far.
Perhaps it’s time for faster moving scenes.
I’ll start with Harry sitting at a bar…
…The handsome actor (loved by mostly teens—
Though once a lowly pornographic star)
Now owns a house complete with putting greens.
The thrilling stanzas that are coming next
Will tell of Harry being sorely vexed.

Our mighty hero paid then left the seat*
In which he’d just enjoyed a manly meal.
With superhuman steps he walked the street
Still thinking of his lately eaten veal–
Oblivious to quiet creeping feet
Pursuing close behind his stepping heel.
Our story’s handsome hero didn’t know
He’d soon encounter Rick (his hated foe).

*He did not pay the seat. As usual, the meter has influenced me to write more ambiguously than I normally would.

Once ears perceived that dreaded cam’ra click,
He turned his head to meet a blinding flash
He knew had come from Tabloid Wizard Rick–
A foe with whom he always seemed to clash.
Our hero ran, but Rick’s pursuit was quick
[In college, Rick had won a racing dash].
Then, Ricky said, “I’ve heard you two were close.
How do you feel about her overdose?

Or would you rather talk of matrimony?
I hear you’ve spent some time in fam’ly court
(Since Missus rode your agent like a pony).
My fellow wizard’s latest news report
Reveals you’ll owe your ex no alimony,
Yet she’ll receive a wealth of child support.
Assist my quest to fill the people’s need
[For scandals are the food on which they feed].”

Those words provoked the hero’s righteous rage
Awaking his desire to bravely smite
The vile, detested cam’ra-wielding mage
Who spoke these magic words: “I want no fight
But just to put you on the cover page.”
Our star replied, “Be gone, unwelcome sight!
…Or else I’ll smash your evil cam’ra’s lens
And run you over with my custom Benz.”

Replying, Ricky cast a common spell
That tabloid wizards know as “I Will Sue.”
With growing ire, the hero told him, “Go to Hell!”
Then tossed the cam’ra, breaking it in two.
And, when the pieces of the cam’ra fell,
He smashed them both beneath his shiny shoe.
Before a cuff restrained his raging wrist,
He pummeled Ricky ’til he’d hurt his fist.

Oh, Rage that dwells inside a human’s heart…
You vessel hard to empty but not fill…
You cycle slow to end but quick to start…
You who can move with ease but not be still.
You’re like a fully-loaded shopping cart
That’s started rolling swiftly down a hill.
Your reckless rolling won’t begin to end
Until you’ve crashed into a foe or friend.

To Rage, the wizard owes a hearty “Thanks!”
The piece he wrote on Harry’s acts of war
Against the Tabloid Wizards’ royal ranks
Ensured that tabloid sales would skyward soar
And fortified the warring Clan of Cranks
[Which tracked the star more closely than before.]*
Oh, Rage, you causer of an odd effect,
You bring about what people most reject.

“*Footnote about the Story Printed”
To save the story from “Banality”—
A curse that’s also known as “What Occurred”—
The piece proclaimed, “The star’s brutality
Was sparked by what this writer disinterred
…that Harry’s fond of bestiality.
In other words, he loves what’s thickly-furred.
Afraid I might reveal the dirty truth,
He punched my face and chipped a lower tooth.”

“The Rage of Odysseus and the Cyclops”

 

[Polyphemus, painted by Jean-Leon Gerome]

“The Rage of Odysseus and the Cyclops”
Escaping near disaster made me bold.
Against the pleas companions wisely spoke,
I would not cease to taunt a wounded foe—
To make him feel again the blow
That rendered sightless that unsightly eye—
An eye that saw a meal, and little more,
Where gentler eyes would see a man in need.

The crash of boulders and resulting waves
Alarmed the crew, but rage was further fueled,
Not quenched, by drenching rains of salty sea—
The fire inside my spirit roared with flames
That strove to match the waves in height.
I thought I’d shout the fire ‘til none remained.

Despite increasing vehemence and force,
The hills he hurled and fiery words I shot
Became more futile as our distance grew.
Although I was exhausted, flames still burned.

Enraged about the men he had devoured,
I had endangered friends who were alive.
The smoke I blew had made me nearly blind,
And boulders hurled did not restore his sight.

a poem in blank verse–by Paul Burgess

Certain scenes from Homer continue to inspire me. This is the third poem I have written on this scene. The other two are here: https://paulwhitberg.wordpress.com/2014/06/09/cyclops/   https://paulwhitberg.wordpress.com/2014/05/29/the-blinding-of-the-cyclops-polyphemus/[As with everything I post, this is a first draft.]